Feeling Useless
by Ra MayKaizen
Summary: A short story about Austria and his time being confined to a wheel chair. Filled by me on the LJ APH Kink MEME
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia/Axis Powers Hetalia—Hidekaz does.

**Author's Note: ** I wrote this as a fill for the Hetalia LJ Kink MEME and I'm posting it here. Story's canon and a little fluffy with some boy x boy love. Nothing explicit though. If you don't like it, GTFO, because I will report flames. Anyways. Here's some Prussia x Austria. Enjoy!

**Feeling Useless (part one and two)**

Roderich knew he was never horribly strong, nor had he ever been a fighter. His passion had always lay within music—Which wasn't a problem now. He really couldn't do much, confined to a wheel chair after World War I. Elizaveta had left him. . . and the Austrian nation was left crippled from the war.

At the moment, his wheelchair was facing the window—he'd lost the will to write music, even to touch his piano, which was now collecting dust. He was uncharacteristically depressed—even Mariazell seemed to have lost life, the curl slumped. Unseeing violet eyes watched the rain hit the glass of the window. Pale lips were parted slightly and his breath fogged up the glass.

A grumble in his stomach and he knew he needed to eat. Slowly, he wheeled the chair to the kitchen to eat. He couldn't really reach the counter now, which caused a few problems. He sighed. Maybe he would just go out for food, though truth be told, he hadn't left his house since the end of the war. He wheeled away from the kitchen and down the hall to his room. It was times like these he was grateful for having a spare room on the first floor. Once in that room, he pushed the door closed with long fingers before moving to the bed. He lifted himself from the wheel chair to his bed and laid down.

His bed was soft and comfortable. . . One hand removed the glasses from his face and set them on the bed-side-table. Heavy lids closed over violet eyes, slowly breathing through his nose. He was rather lonely, and he recalled now how much he disliked the others sometimes. Ever since Switzerland. . . His mind lingered on that thought before going black.

**_**_**_**_**_**

Austria sat up, awakened by the smell of wurst the next morning. He rubbed his eyes before realizing he'd fallen asleep in his clothing. Moderately disgusted with himself, he slid off the bed and into his wheelchair, wheeling himself to the closet.

It was saddening how such a simple task that rarely took more than ten minutes in the past now took him nearly a half hour. Once he'd dressed again—he'd skipped bathing for now, as that was a huge hassle in itself—he rolled himself out to the kitchen. Who was in his house, cooking? Who had a key?

He was disappointed to find the kitchen empty. But on the table, with a little note beside it, was a plate of wurst and eggs. He picked up the note and read it.

_Österrich—_

_Heard your troubles. Hope this helps some. You should play your piano again, it was looking dusty. _

But there was no signature with it, causing the brunette to frown. Who would've left such a note? Obviously a German speaker, but that didn't help—aside from himself, there was Switzerland, Germany, and Prussia. Out of those three, Germany seemed to be the most likely to do such a thing, but this handwriting. . .It wasn't Ludwig's. Well, it surely couldn't have been Vash or Gilbert. . .

He shook his head and began to eat. The wurst was delicious, the eggs just the way he liked them. Who could've cooked so expertly? He knew Gilbert didn't have the skills, but Vash would never do such a thing. . . He finished his meal and put the plate in the sink before attempting to wash it. He managed, somehow, though he couldn't put the dish away. He then rolled his wheelchair to the front room and stared down his piano.

A slow breath and violet eyes closed. He had no inspiration to play it. Nothing at all. . . Slowly, he wheeled away, to his bedroom. He grabbed another change of clothes before moving along to the bathroom. He proceeded to take a long bath, soaking his useless legs. Roderich was overcome with this feeling of helplessness as he sat in the tub, eyes closed. The warm water was wonderful against his flesh, oddly relaxing. However, he heard something and sat up, opening his eyes, though his sight was poor without his glasses on.

The front door was open, someone was in his house. . . He strained to hear. The only sound he heard from the intruder was the sound of combat boots along his wood floors. Roderich bit his lower lip. The intruder was in his kitchen now, preparing lunch it sounded like. Was it already so late? It must've been. . .

The brunette lifted himself from the tub and grasped his towel, drying off. He moved as quickly as he could, but it was difficult with wounded legs. Once dried, he dressed—the intruder was still there, he could hear that much.

He slid into his clothes with difficulty and buttoned up his shirt and pants. Quickly, he towel dried his hair, careful of Mariazell. The pianist moved himself into his wheelchair after draining the tub. He wheeled himself into the kitchen as quietly as possible. The intruder was still there, making lunch for the brunette.

His back was to Roderich, clad in that blue uniform he always wore, his white hair a mess atop his head. The brunette was shocked to find _Gilbert Beilschmidt_, of all people, in his kitchen, making him lunch. The last he'd checked the albino hated him—and the feeling was mutual, or so Roderich claimed. So what was Gilbert doing here?


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Hetalia/Axis Powers Hetalia—Hidekaz does.

**Author's Note: ** I wrote this as a fill for the Hetalia LJ Kink MEME and I'm posting it here. Story's canon and a little fluffy with some boy x boy love. Nothing explicit though. If you don't like it, GTFO, because I will report flames. Anyways. Here's some Prussia x Austria. Enjoy!

**_**_**_**_**_**

**Feeling Useless**

Roderich's mouth was hanging open slightly, in a very improper gesture. He closed it quickly before clearing his throat. He wanted answers. He had to know why _Gilbert Beilschmidt_ of all people was here taking care of him. What the hell was the albino thinking? Their passionate hate for each other—

He got a little chuckle out of watching Gilbert jump and whip around. Red eyes were watching Roderich and the brunette felt warmth running to his cheeks. However, he put on his best 'I-am-not-amused' expression, delicate arms folding over his chest. Long fingers of one hand drummed on the upper arm of its opposite. He watched Gilbert with his cold, violet gaze.

"What are you doing here?" The silence almost went unbroken for five minutes, and Gilbert, for once, would've been fine with that. He didn't much feel like explaining himself but Roderich asked. . .

"Poisoning you," the albino replied with a snarky grin. Roderich rolled his eyes.

"I am not stupid, you fool. If you were trying to poison me, I'd be sick now."

"You're always sick," a quick reply. Roderich rolled his eyes a second time, scoffing as well.

"If you're done. . ."

"Nein, nein, I haven't even begun." The albino turned his back to Roderich, snickering to himself. The brunette frowned deeply. He allowed the silence to fall between them, wheeling himself to the table. He watched Gilbert work, his mind working out a thousand things to say. Why was Prussia being so nice to him? They'd always fought. . . So it simply didn't make sense. But, then again, this _was_ Prussia, and he rarely made sense to anyone but himself.

Austria opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. What to ask. . . 'Why are you being so nice to me?' 'What are you plotting?' 'Who are you and what have you done with Prussia?' But none of those managed to make their way past prim lips. What made its way out, instead, was "You made breakfast for me?"

Violet eyes watched the back clad in blue, hands folded in his lap. He knew the Prussian had heard him when he'd paused momentarily. . . But now the Austrian wasn't getting an answer. He frowned again.

"I know it was you, Preußen. . ." the brunette said a little louder.

Even with his back turned, Gilbert could just tell the pianist was pouting—he could hear it in the other's voice. "Kesesese. . ." His trademark laugh which sent shivers down the Austrian's spine.

"Ja, I did it." The albino turned to face him. "So what?"

An indignant expression came to Roderich's face, which caused Prussia to laugh again.

"Why?" Austria demanded. The albino shook his head, turning to finish the lunch he'd been preparing for the other nation. He could feel those stunning eyes glaring into his back and stifled a laugh. With a huff, Roderich wheeled out of the kitchen and to the front room—more specifically, to the piano. He was angry. Prussia had succeeded. He listened to Chopin drift from the piano and grinned wide.

Graceful fingers danced along black and white keys, never once hitting a sour note, even after not playing for a while. Anger emanated from the brunette as his fingers moved flawlessly. He didn't notice that the albino was leaning in the door way from the hall into the living room, watching Austria play with a smile on his pale-white face. By the time the pianist had finished playing, Gilbert was gone from the doorway—gone from the kitchen too, Roderich noticed once he'd wheeled in there.

He looked around but found no sign of the albino. . . Had he left? Austria was about to go find out—he didn't want that Prussian wrecking havoc in his home—but then he realized that he was rather hungry, and lunch was on the table, waiting for him. Despite Gilbert's claims of poisoning him, Roderich ate—he knew there was no poison there.

Once he'd finished, he managed to wash his dish again, then decided to make sure the Prussian had, in fact, left. So Austria traveled the entire first floor in his wheelchair before stopping at the bottom of the stairs. He couldn't go up there with his wheelchair. . .

"Preußen?" A light voice called curiously. There was no answer. . . Austria frowned. Well, at least the nuisance was gone. He wheeled back to the guest room and changed into his night wear. He was already quite tired. Once clothed in his night gown, he lifted himself into the bed and curled up.

His mind was ablaze with thoughts. Why was Gilbert taking care of him? What was the albino planning? Was he trying to trick Roderich? Because the brunette wouldn't fall for it. Haze tugged at the corners of his mind, so he opened his eyes, only to have them close again. It wasn't even five in the evening. . . The thought passed and the whirlwind of other thoughts began. The last thing that crossed his mind before he gave into sleep was _I can almost feel his fingers on my face. . ._

Prussia was at Austria's side once the brunette was asleep. He'd removed his boots in order to creep around the other nation's house without being caught, though he had no ill intent—well . . . not _a lot_ of ill intent. Pale, calloused fingers brushed gently over Roderich's cheek. Despite all their bickering—which Gilbert greatly enjoyed, thinking it fun—he did care for the brunette in his own way. And, though he'd never admit it, he hated to see Roderich suffer—especially when the cause of his suffering wasn't the Prussian himself. In a long-calculated move, he leaned down and brushed chapped lips against Austria's before pulling back. Roderich mumbled— _Kinda cute, when he's not bitching,_ the albino thought with a grin, his fingers still stroking the pianist's cheek. However, when Austria mumbled, Prussia stopped and left the room, going to tend to something else. He hated doing house work (a woman's work, he'd say, but that would risk Hungary from nowhere and kicking his ass, so he refrained) but Austria needed help.


End file.
